


Shake Things Up

by Nny



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Avenger Clint Barton, Fluff, Kid Fic, M/M, single dad bucky barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:28:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23165494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nny/pseuds/Nny
Summary: “You could come for milkshakes!”“Alice,” Bucky said, at almost exactly the same time as Hawkeye spoke.“Nah, your pop doesn’t want me tagging along.” There was something a little strained, still, in his voice, something a little unhappy in his half-smile, and Bucky caved like he always did when Alice looked at him the same way.“You should come for milkshakes,” Bucky said decisively, and Hawkeye’s eyes flicked up to meet his. Turned out when they weren’t panic-dark, they were a real pretty shade of blue.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Comments: 43
Kudos: 591





	Shake Things Up

**Author's Note:**

> With huge thanks to Amy and CB as always, and apologies to Amy for occasionally ignoring your Very Good Suggestions.

They were almost all the way through the queue when there was an abrupt commotion at the front of the line, cries of disappointment and anger, and Bucky - who had been carrying Alice on his back for the past half an hour, ‘cos it was getting close to her bedtime and soccer practice had worn her right out - watched Hawkeye stand up and walk away from the signing table with a sense of inevitability. 

“Where’s he going?” Alice asked, her action figure a constant uncomfortable pressure against his shoulder where she was keeping hold of it just as hard as she was holding onto him. 

“I think they’re done, doll,” he said, and she didn’t say anything - ‘cos his Alice was a trooper, and she always hated to let on that she was disappointed - but he could feel the way she slumped against his back. 

“Oh,” she said softly. “Okay.” 

It was a full hour ahead of when the signing was supposed to finish. Bucky’d taken time off from work for this, lost a couple hours’ wages from his shitty mailroom job, and still had to pay Alice’s sitter because she required a certain amount of notice and claimed she hadn’t got his text. They’d been so close to the front of the line, and he’d been so goddamned relieved that for once the world was gonna work things out so he could break out of his grinding daily routine and do the right thing for Alice - for _once_ \- and then Hawkeye’d had some kinda diva shit-fit and walked out. 

He crouched down so she could slide off his back, then turned around to pull her into the half-hugs that were all he could do. 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he said. She nodded against his shoulder, her little chest unsteady against his, but when he pulled back she was bright-eyed but had pulled on a trembling grin. 

“It’s okay,” she said again. “Maybe he had to go save the world again.”

“Yeah, maybe,” he said. “How about we go get a milkshake, huh? You can read me some of your comic, maybe.” 

“We’ve got chocolate milk at home,” she said, and it just about broke Bucky’s heart how she was always careful about money, how she’d tried to argue that she didn’t need an allowance, ‘cos she always caught on to the stresses he carried no matter how hard he tried to push them down. That was her dad’s fault, that she’d learned to be so wary, and the asshole was just lucky he was dead. 

“Let’s go get a milkshake,” he repeated, and she rewarded him with a much more solid grin. 

The line of angry people was forming a crowd at the entrance, the mall security guards heading over, and Bucky could feel his hackles rising at the looks on some of their faces. He looked around and saw a side entrance - it said staff only, but there was nothing to enforce that, so he grabbed Alice’s hand and tugged her that way instead. 

“Where’re we going?” she said. 

“Shortcut,” he told her, checked for security, then pushed open the door. They spilled out into a dark little courtyard that had a gate out onto the street, and he pulled the door shut carefully behind him, and only then realised that they weren’t the only ones out there. 

“Sorry,” he said, “we got a little - “

His voice trailed off as he noticed the guy’s posture, the way he was all folded tight in on himself, arms wrapped secure across his chest and shoulders heaving as he tried to suck in air. There was something kinda wild about him, kinda desperate, and it was familiar in ways that Bucky hated, like some manifestation of dread. 

“ _Hawkeye?_ ” Alice said. 

“Go stand by the gate a second,” Bucky told her, tone of voice not allowing her to answer back. Then he moved his hand away from his side and stepped just a little closer to Hawkeye, keeping his posture as open and unthreatening as he could make it. Hawkeye’s eyes snapped up to him, his pupils large and dark, and Bucky wasn’t sure exactly what he was seeing but he didn’t like the look on his face. 

“Hey,” he said, low and soothing, “hey breathe, buddy, you’re safe here, okay?” 

Hawkeye didn’t answer, just shook his head, halfway between a denial and shaking something off him, the shudder travelling down through him until his knees looked like they were gonna give way. Bucky cast around for something he could use to help - he knew goddamn well that touching the guy was the worst thing he could do - and saw that the place was clearly used as a smoking area, a couple of metal chairs and a battered plastic table tucked into the corner furthest from the line of dumpsters. He grabbed one of the chairs and dragged it over, wincing at the screech of its legs on the uneven concrete, and set it right next to Hawkeye with its back facing him, so he had something to lean on even if he couldn’t coordinate to sit down. 

“Shit,” Hawkeye muttered, “shit, _shit._ ” 

“Yeah,” Bucky said wryly. “Ain’t it just?” 

“Pop?” Alice called over, tremulously, “is he gonna be okay?”

Unexpectedly it was Hawkeye who answered her, pulling himself upright, pulling on something that - if you weren’t as close as Bucky had gotten - would do a decent impression of a grin. 

“I’m fine,” he said, voice only a little unsteady, and Bucky snorted, ‘cos he was plenty familiar with feeling Freaked out, Insecure, Neurotic and Emotional, and he did almost as good a job of covering it, too. Hawkeye gave him a sidelong look, considering, and then turned his smile on Alice again. “I just got a little hot in there. I should -” he gestured back towards the door, his jaw muscle twitching as he contemplated walking back in. 

“Nah, you shouldn’t,” Bucky said. “People were pretty p-i-s-s-ed.” Hawkeye blanched, and Alice huffed an impatient sigh from across the yard. 

“I’m _seven_ , pop,” she said. “I can _spell.”_

“Pop?” Hawkeye asked, curious and amused, and Bucky scowled. 

“Yeah,” he said. “She decided on it ‘cos her biological father was ‘dad’.” He didn’t need to say more, ‘cos Hawkeye was nodding like he got it, like he _knew._ Bucky shrugged all that off, tried on a smile, and liked the way it made Hawkeye’s eyes flicker to his mouth for the barest moment. It had been a while, and the guy was _hot._ “You should escape with us, maybe,” Bucky said, jerking his head at the gate out to the street, and then Alice perked right up. 

“You could come for milkshakes!” 

“Alice,” Bucky said, at almost exactly the same time as Hawkeye spoke. 

“Nah, your pop doesn’t want me tagging along.” There was something a little strained, still, in his voice, something a little unhappy in his half-smile, and Bucky caved like he always did when Alice looked at him the same way. 

“You should come for milkshakes,” Bucky said decisively, and Hawkeye’s eyes flicked up to meet his. Turned out when they weren’t panic-dark, they were a real pretty shade of blue. Hawkeye shrugged. 

“Doesn’t sound like I’m so popular around here,” he said, and Bucky went over to carefully tug Alice’s cap - which proudly advertised her soccer team - off her head, gently unthreading her ponytail. He adjusted the snap back to its largest setting and shoved it onto Hawkeye’s head. 

“C’mon,” he said. “I know a place in Brooklyn.” 

*

They wove through the diner right to the back, away from the huge plate glass windows in the front. Bucky figured Hawkeye needed it more, so he let him take the seat with two corners to shield his back. He could see the guy’s eyes flickering around the room, clocking the people and the exits, and maybe the potential weapons too. 

“What kind of milkshake do you like, Hawkeye?” Alice asked, and Bucky saw the minute flinch. 

“He’s got a name, Alice,” he said, and then poked the back of Hawkeye’s hand, a moment of cold clammy skin against his finger tip before the guy jerked it back out of reach. “You’ve got a name, right?” 

“Clint,” he said, the same time as Alice did, and a tiny smile quirked the edge of his mouth. “And you guys’re Alice and…?”

“Bucky. Bucky Barnes.” 

“Well it’s good to meet you, Bucky Barnes.” He smiled, just a little, and in the bright diner-light Bucky could see freckles marching across the bridge of his nose. The last thing he needed was a celebrity crush - no, the last thing he needed was to share a celebrity crush with his goddamned _daughter_ \- so he flipped open the plastic-covered menu they’d grabbed on the way through and busied himself with the selection.

“So Alice, you got any milkshake recommendations for me?” Clint asked, and seemed tickled as hell when Alice took him seriously at his question and went through the menu shake by shake, listing off their advantages and drawbacks, and occasionally referring to Bucky to remind her when the last time she’d had it. Clint contributed every now and again, asking questions that showed he was actually listening to her, making faces whenever she mentioned something about bananas. 

Bucky flipped the menu closed and had a waiter at his elbow in a second, a kid who looked barely into his teens. He flipped open his pad and grabbed his pen with impressive economy of motion, and listed off the day’s specials in a flat monotone. Clint shot Bucky a look, one eyebrow raised, and Bucky gave him a flat stare right back - the service might be unenthusiastic but the milkshakes were goddamned divine. 

“A cup of black coffee and a Very Berry milkshake,” he said, watching out of the corner of his eye as Alice ran her finger down the list of flavours, making the agonised face she always did when forced to make a choice between them. 

“Are you guys not eating?” Clint asked, and Alice answered absently. 

“Pop gets paid on Fridays and we’ve got food at home.” 

Bucky could feel the colour climbing into his cheeks and he scowled at Clint, daring him to say anything, but the guy just nodded and ordered for himself. 

“As big a cup of coffee as you can manage,” he said, “a tuna melt with a side of fries and a vanilla milkshake with a little chocolate sauce, please and thank you.” He nudged Alice gently in the side. “You might need to help me out with the fries, okay? Gotta keep that superhero physique.” He slapped his belly and exaggerated a wince, and Alice slapped a hand over her mouth, a giggle spilling out over her fingers. 

“Alice,” Bucky said gently, and she turned to smile up at the waiter. 

“Sorry!” She said brightly. “Please can I have a small -” 

“Regular,” Bucky corrected, and she beamed at him. 

“A regular cookies and cream shake with a spoon and a straw please!”

“Do you do free refills on the coffee?” Clint asked, and the smile when it was confirmed was all the way past devastating and a long way down the road to hell. 

The conversation flowed a lot easier than Bucky thought it ought to, and almost all traces of Clint’s earlier panic had disappeared. That was, aside from when someone dropped something in the kitchen and the both of them startled around, Clint’s chair screeching across the floor as he moved to place himself firmly between Alice and the noise. She kept chattering on, oblivious, explaining to Clint all about - how wombats poop cubes, apparently, and Bucky honestly had no clue how that one had organically come up in conversation. 

(Alice’s bedside table was piled high with wildlife magazines, a subscription to which had been her Christmas present from Bucky’s mom. She’d been bemoaning her lack of grandchildren well into Bucky’s thirties, so his acquisition of Alice had gone down a storm.)

“We’re good,” Bucky said, low and soothing, then had to repeat it a little louder to get Clint to turn around. He hadn’t noticed the subtle flesh-coloured hearing aids in Clint’s ears until Clint made an apologetic face and reached up to fiddle with them. 

“Sorry, yeah, I know,” he said, and dragged a couple fries through the melted cheese on his plate, looking a little like his appetite had disappeared. He shoved the bowl closer to Alice who immediately dipped a couple into her milkshake, beaming when he and Clint both made noises of disgust. 

“Do you know what set you off?” Bucky asked after a second, when Alice was occupied fishing cookie lumps out of her drink. When Clint sent him a sharp look he shrugged the shoulder that wasn’t of use any more and made a face. “When I got back that was the worst,” he said. “Feeling like the world was ending without any clue which hideyhole that feeling had sprung from.” 

Clint hunched his shoulders, ducking down so the brim of Alice’s cap was shading his face. 

“You remember the Battle of New York?” he said, and Bucky snorted. 

“Yeah, I think I remember something about that.” 

“Well it wasn’t much in the news, I don’t think,” he said, “but I was - compromised.” Clint took in a deep breath and blew it out again, the paper wrapper from Alice’s straw skipping across the tabletop. “Someone wanted me to sign a -” he gestured - “a fancy dress costume, I think, like a plastic replica of Loki’s helmet.” 

Bucky breathed out a fricative, only stopping short of swearing with an effort of will and due to a couple years’ practice. 

“That’d do it,” he said, and Clint lifted his head again, shot him a rueful grin. 

“People are a-s-s-holes,” he said, and Alice slumped back in her chair with a world-weary sigh. 

“I can _spell_ ,” she reminded them, and something about her overdone exasperation had Clint lighting up with a grin. 

“Probably better than I can,” he said. “I quit school and ran off to join the circus when I wasn’t much older than you.” 

Alice’s interest and transparent delight got them through another refill of their coffees, Clint demonstrating juggling tricks with condiments and sleight of hand with sugarcubes and their newly empty cups. He grinned up at the waiter, abashed, when the guy made a face at the wreckage of their table, and snagged the check out from under Bucky’s fingers, adding a hefty tip on top. 

Bucky was a little startled when he looked up at the clock on the wall and registered how late it had got; Alice was drooping noticeably now, and Clint’s face took on an expression that seemed like a quiet sort of awe when she rested her head on his bicep with a helpless yawn. 

“Thanks for coming for milkshakes, Mr Hawkeye,” she said sleepily, and grumbled softly when Bucky took her hand to gently tug her up out of her chair. 

“Thanks for inviting me,” Clint said as they made their way into the darkness outside, lingering in the pool of light thrown from the diner windows as they said their goodbyes. 

“It was our pleasure,” Bucky said, and maybe he emphasised that wrong - or maybe, maybe he said it just right, ‘cos there was a moment that curled into a fluttering in his stomach where he thought there might just be a mutual sort of sway into each other. The brim of Clint’s borrowed cap lightly tapped Bucky on the forehead and then the guy was backing off, ducking his head like he was embarrassed, rubbing his hand against the back of his neck. 

“So I’ll, uh. I’ll see you around,” he said, with a last sunshine-bright smile, and Bucky tried not to let his stomach sink too much as he agreed. 

*

The next couple of weeks, Bucky barely had any time to think about Clint at all. Work was exactly as dull as usual, but Alice had a big project to finish at school, so their evenings were pretty taken up with popsicle sticks and ping pong balls and feathers and glue. Soccer practices were also ramping up for the under 10s teams, and Bucky had a job of work just trying not to lose his shit with some of the more competitive parents there, who seemed to think that heckling seven and eight year olds was an acceptable use of their time. 

When you added to that the fact that Alice’s birthday was sneaking up on them, and that all the preparation had to be gotten out of the way when he’d finally managed to bundle her off to bed, and it was little wonder that Bucky didn’t have time for much more than collapsing into sleep at the end of the day. Lingering over mischievous smiles, and getting caught up in thoughts of a goddamned ‘superhero physique’, those kind of indulgences were for people who had enough hours in the day - or better shower pressure, maybe. 

Mostly the whole evening they’d spent with Clint felt kinda like something out of a dream, something a hell of a distance away from their routine life. Especially when he caught a glimpse of the Avengers on the news, Captain America throwing his shield around and Iron Man blasting bad guys in the face, and always in the background a distant figure raining arrows down with perfect precision, too far away to see if there was a smile on his face. 

Bucky always tried to avoid watching the brief statements they gave after, but Alice always got excited when she caught sight of them, running to kneel in front of the television so she could take everything in. Bucky mostly kept himself busy at the table or behind the kitchen counter, but it was a little embarrassing how his head jerked up when he heard a too-familiar drawl. 

Goddammit, all the pep-talks and determination in the world weren’t gonna help him if he couldn’t squash the idiot-giddiness in his stomach. Besides, it wasn’t fair to Alice to let her keep thinking that they were going to get to hang out with Hawkeye again. She about shrieked the house down the time Widow and Hawkeye were on some breakfast show, Clint looking awkward and bruised even through his TV makeup. One of the other guests was some basketball player, barely taller than Clint, and Clint made some joke about being more into soccer, now, and Alice talked about nothing else for _days_. 

She was still chattering about him when they were headed to the soccer pitch that Saturday, her kit washed threadbare and her hair tied up in an almost-neat ponytail. 

“...come to one of my matches with you, maybe,” she said, and Bucky dropped her hand and crouched down next to her, lightly touching his hand to her shoulder instead. 

“Alice,” he said, as gentle as he could get it after another night of restless sleep and blue-eyed dreams, “we were real lucky to hang out with Hawkeye once, way luckier than all those people who just got to say hey and get something signed. But he’s a busy guy, and he doesn’t know us from Adam, sweetheart. I don’t think we’re gonna get to see him again.” 

“But -” she said, and huffed out a breath like she knew the arguments were there, she just couldn’t think of them right now. Her face was folding into mulish lines, and he couldn’t help quirking a little smile, cupping her cheek in his big hand, charmed to the very bones of him that she felt safe enough to show she was annoyed. 

“Look, we’ll talk about it after your practice, okay?” he said, and she nodded a little sulkily and ran off to join her team. He rubbed a hand over his face, prickle of stubble and greasy hair after a busy week, and snorted out a laugh. What it’d be to have the optimism of a seven year old, Jesus; what the hell was Hawkeye gonna see in someone like him?

Soccer warm-ups were nothing if not repetitive, and Bucky felt himself relaxing a little too much in the late spring sun, easing back in his chair and maybe nodding off a couple times as the stands gradually filled up around him. When they finally quit with the passing practice and whatever the hell dribbling was he sat up a little, ready to watch the game and the fierce glee it always put on Alice’s face. He waved back when she waved at him, beaming, and startled a little when the guy next to him waved too. 

He wasn’t expecting Clint’s bright blue eyes when he turned to look, sticking plaster covering the bridge of the guy’s nose beneath the brim of Alice’s cap. He wasn’t expecting the swoop of his stomach like he’d gotten on a rollercoaster, and he bit down fiercely on a grin. 

“Fancy seeing you here,” Clint offered, after the moment of eye contact dragged on a little too long. 

“Of course I’m here, it’s match day. But what’s a guy like you doing in a place like this?” Bucky asked, and realised a little too late how much that sounded like a line. He covered his face, feeling like an idiot, and wished he didn’t get so much enjoyment out of the soft chuckle just next to his ear. 

“You’re awful pretty when you blush, Bucky Barnes,” Clint said, and Bucky laughed, kinda incredulous. 

“I’m an average joe with a kid and just about two cents to rub together,” he said. “You remember you’re a superhero, right?” 

“Not much of one,” Clint said, and Bucky couldn’t let that stand. 

“Bullshit,” he said, loud enough for Clint to hear, and more than loud enough to garner him a few glares from the soccer moms around them. “You’re more of a hero than those guys with superpowers that heal right up after every fight. You’re worth five of Captain America, and you look ten times better in the uniform, too.” 

Bucky snapped his mouth shut around the words, a wave of hot colour rushing back into his cheeks, and the pretty smile on Clint’s mouth was only the barest compensation. 

“And now I’ve made an ass of myself, you gonna tell me why the hell you’re here?” Bucky asked, and Clint laughed a little at the belligerence in his tone. 

“I’m a soccer fan, what can I tell you?” he said, and then nudged Alice’s cap up with his knuckle. “Plus I had something to return.” 

“You coulda sent it to the team,” Bucky said. “It ain’t fair to get her hopes up.” 

Clint shrugged, shifted his weight a little so his knee knocked into Bucky’s. He put his hand, palm up, on the seat between them, looking out over the field and squinting in the sun. 

“I guess I figured,” he said, “since mine are, and all -” 

“This is crazy,” Bucky said. “This is fuckin’ nuts.” But it didn’t stop him sliding his hand over so he could press it palm to palm, letting his fingers slide between Clint’s, skin brushing against callused skin. 

They sat like that, Bucky’s stomach fizzing like a root beer float, until the final whistle blew and Alice charged up the steps towards them, her face red and sweaty and her hair all in disarray. 

“Hey Alice,” Clint said, and Bucky couldn’t help loving the way he grinned at her, the way she grinned right back. “You wanna go get a milkshake?”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art for "Shake Things Up" by Nny](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28868967) by [sian1359](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sian1359/pseuds/sian1359)




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